Still They Ride
by slaysvamps
Summary: What happens when John comes across a female hunter and a sex starved ghost.


Title: Still They Ride  
Author: slaysvamps  
Pairings: John/OFC  
Warnings: Adult Situations & Language  
Spoilers: None, really  
Stats: 1/1, 1,190 words  
Spoilers: None  
Disclaimer: If John Winchester belonged to me, I think my husband would be mighty upset. Of course, if I owned the rights to Supernatural, we'd have lots more money so he might not care…  
Summary: What happens when John comes across a female hunter and a sex starved ghost.  
Notes: Unbeta'd, mistakes are all my own.

I closed my eyes, praying silently for help but not expecting any. I'd gotten myself into this mess, gone to the house expecting to find it occupied by a ghost, and that's exactly what I'd found. It just wasn't exactly what I'd expected.

Nick Hartman had lived in the old Victorian farmhouse on the back roads near a forgotten hick town in Michigan nearly a hundred years ago. Legend had it that the old man was infamous for his lechery, for seducing any woman in arms reach from the time he'd turned twelve until he died at age thirty-nine when an angry father put a bullet in his heart. Of course that hadn't stopped Nick, it had just changed the way he operated.

A hundred years of haunting the old farmhouse had given Nick plenty of time to perfect his new method of seduction. Nearly a dozen women had been found in the abandoned house, all of them dead from heart attacks, or strokes. Legend said they'd died of pleasure, and at the moment I was perfectly willing to believe that was true.

From the moment I'd entered the house an hour before sundown I'd felt the results of his presence in my quickened heart rate, shallow breaths and the heat between my thighs. I fought the effects as best I could and set about putting the tightly sewn bags of salt, stones and herbs into the walls of the house. Most ghosts I'd encountered were ineffectual while the sun was up, and I was hoping to exorcise the spirit before sundown. Unfortunately, it took longer than I figured to do the job.

I'd just pulled another sachet from my bag when Nick manifested in front of me. Gasping, I stumbled backward, desperate to keep out of his reach. A part of my mind moaned at the site of him, at his dark hair and smooth face, his wide shoulders and flat stomach. Desire surged inside of me until I thought I really was going to die from need.

"You're a beautiful woman," Nick said as he followed me across the room. His voice had a hollow sound, but even so it played along my spine like a lover's caress. "I'm glad you stopped by, my dear."

"Don't touch me," I gasped. The back of my legs hit the bed and, out of balance, I fell backward onto it. Nick put his ghostly hand on my stomach, pressing me into the dusty mattress, pushing up my shirt to caress the bare skin of my stomach.

The ghost's touch on my flesh was like a jolt of electricity to my system. My back arched and I cried out as an orgasm overtook me, wracked my body until I was writhing on the bed.

A gunshot echoed through the room, the sound reverberating so loudly that for a long moment I could hear nothing else. Nick and his hand were suddenly gone, and the orgasm faded leaving me able to think again.

Raising my head I looked up to see a tall man in the bedroom doorway. His dark hair was tousled and he hadn't shaved in days, but the grim look on his face didn't hide the dimples indenting his cheeks. He wore layered clothing that were dirty and worn, looking like he'd slept in them, and was pointing a sawed off shotgun at the air above the bed.

"You all right?" he demanded sharply.

"Are you crazy?" I barked hoarsely, still fighting the sharp edge of desire Nick had ignited within me. "You can't shoot a ghost!"

"Rock salt," he drawled as he crossed the room, lifting the barrel so it pointed at the ceiling. "Won't kill it but it'll drive it back. Do you see it?"

I took a deep breath and rose up on my elbows to look around. There was no visible sign of the ghost, but from the level of my arousal I knew he hadn't gone far. "He's still here," I hissed, shoving my shirt down to cover my stomach.

"Come on, we've got to get you out of here."

He reached for my arm and I tried to pull back, tried to stop him from touching me. Desire was still a living thing under my skin and I was pretty sure I knew what would happen if he made contact.

"No, don't—" I managed before his warm hand closed on my arm.

I felt the warmth of the contact go through me, saw his posture change as the arousal Nick had inflicted on me poured through my skin into his hand, into his body. He dropped the shotgun onto the bed and let go of me but it was far too late. We both tried to fight it, but we both knew it was a loosing battle.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed, his dark eyes boring into mine.

I read his need there, a need that mirrored mine, and a moment later he was on the bed, ripping at my clothes like I was ripping at his. It took only moments to bare our skin and then he was on top of me, spreading my legs with his thigh and thrusting inside of me.

I cried out as he filled me, desire a raging flood between our bodies that swept us along in its wake. He whispered 'I'm sorry' against my neck as we began to move together in the ancient rhythm of lovers.

It's impossible to know how long we were lost in the passion Nick wreaked on our bodies. It seemed like days before the sun came up and drained the ghost's power over us enough that we were able to pull apart and gather the remnants of our clothing. Taking care not to touch we shoved the last few sachets home in the walls. When the last one was in place a flash of light nearly blinded us as Nick's scream of agony echoed through the decaying house.

The stranger and I made our way outside, both of us stumbling with exhaustion but keeping enough distance between us that we wouldn't accidentally touch if one of us fell. My SUV was parked where I'd left it, and beside the vehicle was parked a monstrous black truck. We stood awkwardly in the straggly weeds for a moment, trying not to look at each other.

"Look, can I buy you breakfast?" he asked at last. "It's the least I can do, after—"

I laughed softly and the sound seemed to break the tension between us. "I don't even know your name," I said with a smile.

"John Winchester," he grinned back.

"I'm Kate," I replied. "Kate Edwards."

"Come on," he prompted. "I'll follow you into town."

With a nod I climbed into my SUV, settling gently into the seat. Dust billowed behind me as I pulled away from the old farm house, nearly hiding the big black monster of a truck in my wake. An old Journey tune blasted from the radio as we headed down the dirt road toward breakfast.


End file.
